Jul

21

So I did a thing…

I joined Twitter!

Yep? Misery Without Company is officially on twitter.

“Why?” you may ask. Well, truth be told I am in a bad place recently. I have had things I want to share but don’t have time to sit down and type full blog posts.  There are times I just need to vent and let it all out anonymously without anybody reading it, or judging it, or thinking I am only wanting attention or even unsolicited advice.  Sometimes you just want what you’re feeling, even if you can’t express it properly, to exist outside of yourself.

It’s funny, I have my own personal Twitter account that I rarely post on because I am always worried that I will sound stupid, or what I think is funny is lame and I hate that feeling. With this account, it doesn’t matter, well at least not as much,  and I don’t over think my posts as much. It’s kind of nice.

I literally have ZERO followers and for right now I am okay with that.   Just like I am pretty sure no one reads this blog.  Honestly, I get it. It’s not a very helpful blog but I’m glad I have it anyway.

 

@MiseryWoCompany

Mar

5

calming down

I’m beyond upset right now. I want to express those feelings. While the tears come freely, the words refuse to free themselves from the prison that is my mind.

My husband and I share many similar opinions and ideas. However, there is something he holds in high regard that I have a completely different viewpoint. This one topic has lead to many, MANY, M_A_N_Y arguments. This topic only really gets brought up when he is wasted. Like, pissed drunk, which adds to the frustration of talking about this topic. I am always sober for these arguments and they hurt me much more deeply than what he experiences and remembers the next day.

We just had a doozy of an argument and for the first time in our almost 12 year marriage, I have told him not to come to bed. And instead of the post, I sat down to write over an hour ago, right when he decided to “talk” to me drunk, I am now writing this pathetic post, just to calm my nerves enough to get to sleep. It is 3 in the morning. The last two nights I have only gotten 3-4 hours of sleep and no naps in between.

The worse part about all of this is I had a really great day, and so did he. And it feels all ruined and spoiled because of this crap! I hate it! I hate feeling this way! And I can’t stop crying enough to just fall asleep…

I guess there really isn’t much more to say. Sometimes marriage/significant others suck!

This is the best post I have ever written, I know…

 

**update 3/6/2017: I couldn’t get up yesterday. I didn’t want to get up.  Part of it was that I was exhausted and the other part was not wanting to see or talk to my husband. I was in and out of sleep until 4 pm.  I then had to return something we had borrowed from a friend and didn’t get home until 6:30. I cleaned while Ryan made dinner and he and I didn’t actually speak really about the incident until midnight.  He had apologized multiple times and I was having a really hard time accepting it.  I wanted to, it was just that I felt so hurt and he couldn’t even remember what he did.  He promised that he would not get that drunk again. I want to believe him, but I am a little skeptical.**

Apr

17

Parenting with Depression: Something’s wrong with Mommy

It is a well know fact that parenting is no easy task. It is not for the weak of heart. It takes time, energy, diligence, patience, kindness, love, selflessness, discipline, having fun and so much more than I can even name.

When I was young, I always knew I would be a Mom. I thought how my child would never go through what I suffered. I had this ideal in my head, that most ‘never been mothers’ have.  I knew it would be hard.  Something I never factored in was depression and anxiety. How could I know it would hit me so hard and so deep?

After years of struggle and feeling like I have failed and have damaged my children beyond repair (Please see Parenting with Depression: The Fear of Neglect), I had to hope and pray that it wasn’t true and that my kids could still be alright.  Despite all of the struggles and failings, I knew that my kids KNEW that I LOVED them. I also knew that they still LOVE ME. My husband and I realized that my kids weren’t little anymore.  They needed to know that what is going on with Mommy is NOT normal.

As much as it hurt, I swallowed my pride and told them, “There’s something wrong with Mommy”.

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There are going to be times that I am so tired I can’t get up out of bed or off the couch.  That this is a result of the sickness, it is not normal and Mommy is trying to get better.  There are going to be times where Mommy gets mad for no reason, and I may yell.  This is not normal and Mommy will sometimes need a time out to calm down.  There are times when Mommy can’t stop crying but I will be okay. I had always thought that a Mother comforts her children, not the other way around. Sometimes we have to accept that this is what our family has to do. ( I seriously have the sweetest children alive!)

mom_comforting_siblings_

We have always been honest at telling our kids that we make mistakes and when we are wrong we apologize.  When I have a bad mood swing or can’t play with them the way I need to and want to; I apologize and remind them that I love them with all my heart, that I am going to keep on trying to get better.

The reason I wanted to share this post was because of an incident last Monday with my eldest, Blake.  Last Monday I was beat from a very tiring weekend.  We had guests over so I busted my butt getting things cleaned; 1- to avoid embarrassment and 2- it was a great excuse/reason/motivation whatever you want to call it, to get my house clean, something I desperately want to be done but struggle to do.

So Monday rolls around and I have been trying really hard to be “present” with my kids.  Liam and I decided to make banana muffins, however,  the kids must have woken up super early because they were all grumps.  I took Liam and Keira to the store to get walnuts and on the way home Keira fell asleep.  It was barely 10:30am and I am beyond exhausted.  I try to convince Liam to watch a show so I can lay down for a moment while Keira was sleeping but he insisted on making the muffins right then.  So we did.  Then Keira wakes up. She barely took a 45 minute nap.  The rest of the day felt like it was moving so slowly. By around 3 I knew Blake would be home soon.  Keira was intently watching Tumble Leaf on Amazon while Liam was playing games on my phone and I decided to lay down.  It’s something I always feel terrible about.   I don’t feel as bad when Keira is napping because I know Liam loves having TV time for himself without having to watch Curious George, Tinker Bell or any other “kiddie” show.  However, on Monday Keira was up and I couldn’t last any longer.  I laid down in my bed (which is only 5 1/2 ft away from the Living Room) and I was hoping to just rest but I fell asleep.  I briefly woke up when I heard Blake come home. I reminded him today was his last day of dance and that we will need to leave soon but then I quickly drifted back to sleep. I woke up abruptly only to see it was already time for dance class and he would be late.

I was so mad.  It was his last day of class, they were having rehearsal on the stage where they would be performing this Saturday and he was missing it!  I came out of my room angry! Rushing everyone to get shoes on and taking it out on Blake.  “You knew you had dance at 4. Why aren’t you ready?  Why didn’t you get me?” This anger and frustration and blaming continued as we got in our van and then it hit me! “What are you doing AVA?!?!  This isn’t HIS fault! You are the Mother, it is your responsibility! You are mad at yourself NOT him.”  In the past when I heard that voice, I don’t know if it was pride or fear or what, but I wouldn’t listen to it. I use to not want to admit when I was wrong and when I did it was after the fact. Luckily, the me that wants to get better made a decision that had always been so hard to do int he past. I stopped.

“Blake, I’m sorry.  It is not your fault. It’s mine.  I fell asleep and should have been more aware.  I am mad at me, not you. Do you Understand?  Do you Forgive me?”

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I have always apologized in the past, but this time I not only recognized my mistake IN the moment, I didn’t let it continue.  I stopped it right away. I didn’t let it fester and build. I didn’t realize I was wrong then feel guilty, get more mad at myself and continue to take it out on my innocent son( like I have so many other times in the past). I was honest and in that moment instead of being a mean Mom, an unfair Mom. I became a teacher.  I taught my child that we are in control of emotions, even though it is very hard.  That if they get carried away in the moment, we have the power and control to stop it. We can recognize our faults and fix it there and then if we allow ourselves to.  Apologies and forgiveness can be immediate, powerful and can be healing.

mother and son

Yes, there is something wrong with Mommy but I am getting better.  I  can recognize my faults and so can my kids.  I can teach them even when I don’t always think it’s possible.  I can and will always love them.  Most importantly; they show me that I can be loved in return.

parentchild

 

Jul

20

The weight of the world…on my butt

A 29-year-old, mother of three with weight issues?  What???

Shocking, I know, but it’s true.

So a nice thing about this blog is I get to be completely honest and I am going to take full advantage of that.  Let’s start off by saying I am the biggest I have ever been in my life and it is downright physically and emotionally debilitating!  I absolutely hate it. And if it isn’t enough that I am super self-conscious of it, I am constantly feeling the pressure and judgement of everyone around me.  Granted most of it is in my head, or is it?  We all know how obsessed society is with weight and looks, especially women, so there is no reason for me to go off on that. There are a million articles online about it.  But I feel I need to get somethings off my chest… and hips… and butt…

scale comic

So here is me and my story.

Let’s start with Statistics:  I am 5 ft 9 3/4 in (the 3/4 is very important)  I have never been a petite woman.  At my lowest, I weighed in at about 150 pounds and that weight suited my large boned, curvy, amazon body type well. At that size, I wore a 34 B/C had a 25 in waist and thighs and butt that refuse to be tamed.  Wore a size 8/10 pants and 7/8 dress.  This was my ideal but staying there is a challenge!  Currently, I am the same height but everything else has changed. I am now bouncing between 280-290 pounds. I can uncomfortable fit into size 20 pants, bra 42DD, and my once favorite asset (my stomach) has begun sticking out past my enormous breasts.

How did this happen?  It was so fast yet so gradual.  The worse part of this is that in the Summer of 2011 I was at my ideal size and in a mere 3 years I am 140 pounds overweight ashamed of everything about me.  I have refused to go to parties, church, the Doctors and even the Dentist because of how ashamed I am of my size.  The idea of someone seeing me (especially people who haven’t seen me in a while, like my Dentist) causes me to have a panic attack. It sounds so ridiculous when I type it out but in my head, the pain is so real!

Through all of this, the hardest thing for me to figure out is how to handle this severe hatred for my body with my children.  My hatred of myself began as a child, mostly based on the actions of my Mother and I don’t want to pass that down to my children.

 woman-pinching-her-fat-250-thumb-250x250 

The self-hate talk is programmed so deep it’s hard not to talk negatively about myself. I want my kids to have a healthy self-image and also live a healthy lifestyle. Two things that I am desperately struggling with.

Time for some back story:  I have never been “small”. By 2 I was the height of a 4-year-old by 2nd grade I was being confused as a 4th grader. I was always the tallest in my class and therefore the biggest.  With my height and mass; I was a very “sturdy” child. As a young girl, I mistook this to be bad. When I reached 3rd grade my whole life had changed. My parents were now divorced, I was starting a new school with no friends, we had no money, it was the beginning of my awkward phase and as always I was the largest girl in my grade. I had chunked out a bit and with all of the changes in my life I was very insecure.  The first friend I made in school was a little Korean girl. We made quite an odd couple.  I remember lining up to do a physical with the rest of my classmates. We were checked for lice, scoliosis, sight, hearing, height and weight.  My little friend weighed in at 40 pounds and I was a whopping 90 pounds.  That number was engraved into my head. I felt monstrous! I went home to my mom with my concern and insecurities to be met with a response that has plagued me ever since.  Instead of a comforting speech on everyone is different, that you are taller than everyone else so of course, you will weigh more, or that you are growing, not to worry about weight right now, you will even out, etc. Her response was, “Let’s go on a diet together.”

This response told me that I was fat. That I had a reason to feel bad about myself. That even my mother saw something wrong with me.

But did she know any better?  My Mother had weight issues that started as a young girl from her abusive parents who called my petite mother of 5’4″ 112 pounds, bubble butt, and thunder thighs (the G-rated version).  She was consistently abused emotionally, mentally, physically and sexually.  She became bulimic around the age of 16 until she was in her 20’s. It wasn’t until she was in the bathroom puking and feeling the effects of laxatives all at the same time with her 2 yr old son banging on the door crying to be let in that she realized she needed to stop.  All though she stopped the “purge” part of the bulimic process she continued to eat in unhealthy patterns, including the “binge” period.  To this day she still struggles with healthy eating.  She then put on weight, especially when pregnant with me and was no longer her skinny “fat” self, and she was in the constant mind that she was obese, needing to diet and she hated her body.

Her own self-image issues began to transfer to me.  My Mother is not a delicate woman. She says inappropriate things and at inappropriate times, usually with too much info and this did not stop when it came to criticizing weight.  I realized my mother’s faults and trials early on but it still didn’t stop the way her words hurt. The message was heard loud and clear in my young forming brain. It was not okay to be fat and that was what I was.   But she wasn’t the only one. My Mother and Father criticized and judges those who were overweight.  My Dad joked about my size and my brother’s.  I never felt comfortable in my own skin.  These words along with unhealthy eating habits, not so much what we ate but how much and when set my brother and I up to fail.

When my Mother remarried my stepfather felt the need to control everything. Including what we ate.  Although he provided healthy dinners we were restricted to unhealthy amounts.  We were not allowed in the kitchen, didn’t matter if we were growing kids we could never have seconds and although he had a candy drawer in the fridge we were never allowed to touch it without being severely disciplined.  This led to food sneaking and hiding.  Not just my brother and I, but my Mother too.  She would sneak treats and we would binge on them so we could get rid of the evidence.  We would jump between periods of barely any food, to binge eating, to my mom trying to make us all diet so that she could lose weight, and then sneaking and hiding food.  My view of food, health, and nourishment was completely twisted and damaging.

Through my tween and early teen years, I thought I was fat and ugly.  I always wore baggy clothes partly because of that what I would get in hand-me-down charity bags and because I was so insecure about my own size.  I look at pictures now and I see a healthy looking girl who was never overweight. But that isn’t what I remember. I remember my Mom in the dressing room with me as I tried on a black swimsuit that was 1 size too small; and as I tried to get it on my mother laughing and joking that I looked like a beached whale or a seal, followed by seal barks…  Yeah, that happened.  Or trying on an outfit that was not meant for my body proportions  (butt too big, stomach to small) and my mother commenting on my large size saying that I was not “big” I was “massive”.  I followed back saying, “Thanks, Mom, next you will be calling me a cow”.  Her reply, “Well, only a Jersey. They’re the smaller ones”. What was I to think of myself? It’s amazing how words from others and our own thoughts can alter reality.

My Junior year I became sick and put on about 20 pounds.  As I started my Senior year I was about 189 pounds realizing that I was close to 200 pounds.  I decided to get healthy and if that meant I dropped some weight, great.  I began saying no to sweets.  I ate basically the same breakfast and lunch every day.  My portion sizes at dinnertime (or binge time, like it was with my Mother) were cut in half and I took full advantage of going all out and more during my dance and theatre rehearsal, doing crunches and other extra exercises in between.  By the time I graduated I weight 153 pounds.  During my entire Senior year, I dropped 36 pounds and began to feel better about myself.  I still wore clothes that were too baggy (although I was then I size 10 I wore my size 14 and 16 pants).  Again, it was a mixture of insecurity and no money to buy clothes that fit.  You would think that during this time of great success and finally feeling in control of my body my Mother would be happy for me. Instead, she was jealous!  How could I be losing weight and she not? I must be doing something bad to be looking so good.  I was constantly interrogated by ridiculous inquiries and even confessions from my friends that my mother constantly asked the if I was eating or throwing up in the bathroom after I ate.  Because the only way I could lose weight was if I had an eating disorder.  If you couldn’t tell, my relationship with my parents by the time I was in high school was at an impasse.

For a while, I maintained my weight. I gained some in college but was still healthy and sadly insecure.  However, bad habits caught up with me.  During a very busy and stressful semester at college, I began to forget to eat.  I lost weight because of lack of food.  When things started calming down again I began to eat and since I was in a relationship I began to eat a little too much. I began to put on weight and then the real struggle with weight began.  I Married weighing 183 pounds and in that first year of marriage we both put on weight. While pregnant with Blake I gained about 20 pounds and after he was born stayed around 190 -205.  Depression started and eating became a stress reliever. I then had Liam, after the baby weight was gone I found myself at a whopping 223.  I decided to get healthy but I couldn’t get below 209.  My husband and I decided to follow the HCG diet. I dropped down to 155. Although the depression was still there I felt somewhat motivated and better about myself than I had in a long time. I was even able to wear my Senior year prom dress but I still felt I needed to lose more, it wasn’t enough, I was still too big. But for a moment I felt the inklings of being attractive.  Sadly, it was short-lived.  Maintaining weight isn’t easy, especially when trials arrive.

We began to have money problems.  We realized we needed to move, my son was struggling with issues and my depression and anxiety began to take over.  Our marriage (because of my depression) began to struggle as well. I sought solace in food. I put on about 30 pounds in a few months and then found out I was pregnant.  We moved from a 2,300 sq. ft. 4 bed 2 1/2 bath home into a  1,400 sq. ft. 3 bed 1 bath home while I was 6 months pregnant. We downsized everything in our house. It was not the easiest time. During my pregnancy with Keira, I gained roughly 50 pounds.  I was embarrassed and ashamed. Even though I knew I was pregnant all I could see was that in a year I had put on 80 pounds. The depression had become too much and I finally admitted that I had depression and I needed help.  I couldn’t do it on my own. This was for me to officially admit and as soon as Keira was born I got on anti-depressants (Despite my husband being against it at the time). I did not lose any of the baby weight.  In the last 22 months, I have been on 5 different medications and have gained 60 more pounds.

My weight has a strong emotional connection to how I feel.  Heck, I can remember exactly how much I weighed at different times in my life. My self-worth is often tied directly to the scale and as much as I try to use logic to break those ties, I cannot. I just dig myself deeper.  The worse thing is knowing that is I just consistently ate well and exercised not only would I drop some weight it could potentially help with the depression.  Give me more motivation.  How can I do that when there are days I can barely take care of my family? Barely get out of bed?

As I struggle to look at myself in the mirror and battle all of the terrible names I call myself in my head; I look at my beautiful children and fear that if I don’t watch myself they will have the same struggles.  They are all large kids for their ages and very sturdy.  They weigh more than kids their height and size but they are strong and fit. There is not an ounce of fat on them.  This is what I was. Not fat but strong.  But I didn’t know that! I didn’t see it.  I don’t want my insecurities to reflect onto them.  I want to get them under control.  I want to step out of my house without feeling everyone’s eyes on me and my excess weight.  I want to love myself despite how I look but I don’t know if that is possible.  The answer seems so easy but it’s another battle of logic and reason vs. emotion and fear.  And guess which one has been winning?

woman on scale

Jun

21

Mar

10

To be Human Again, To be human again…

Have you ever heard that cut song from Beauty and the Best that they put into the musical?  “To be Human again”?  That is something that I think of on a daily basis.  Days turn into blurs and there are moments where I don’t really feel alive.  Days where I wonder what it would be like to be human again.  I don’t remember what it’s like really. Honestly.  You would think that it would be an easy concept for a human to understand or remember, but I have no clue.  It’s been 6.5 years since I have been “Myself” and as I am getting help for my illness ( ugh, I hate that term, “illness”) I get these questions a lot. “How do you feel?” “Are you feeling better?”  “Are things getting back to normal?”  How the Hell am I suppose to know?  I don’t know what normal is anymore, I don’t know what it feels like.  A reoccurring thought is: What if these crazy feelings and overwhelming emotions that are inside of are what everyone deals with on a daily basis? What if I am just weak? Why do I think that I am somehow different?  What if this is the only “Normal” I will ever know?